


An Unpredictable Woman

by SusanaR



Series: Impossible Woman [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Backstory, Banter, Case Fic, Drama, F/M, Gen, Humor, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:27:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4390064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanaR/pseuds/SusanaR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bruce met Selina.....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Impermissible Distraction

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "I am the Batman. This is my city. At night it belongs to me." - Bruce Wayne, in Legends of the Dark Knight, Vol. 1 39 (writer Bryan Talbot) 
> 
> "In the eyes of a cat, all things belong to cats." - Anonymous
> 
> "We humans are full of unpredictable emotions that logic cannot solve." - Star Trek

The mugger who shot Thomas and Martha Wayne also ended the life of young Bruce Wayne, at least the only life that Bruce had ever known. His parents had defined his young existence. Despite his father's career and his mother's charities, they had been very involved, loving parents. Without them, Bruce was truly lost. 

Bruce wasn't sure how he could have possibly survived that first year of heart-piercing grief, if it hadn't been for Alfred. It was Alfred Pennyworth who, with occasional assistance from Leslie's assistance, who had tricked, begged, and cajoled the young Bruce into living again. But still, life would never be the same. Already a solitary child, Bruce had become even more isolated, not wanting to spend time with other children or even other people. Bruce's parents, while proud of their son's studious endeavors and understanding of his quiet nature, had still insisted that Bruce accompany them to various events, and play with other children his age. Without them, Bruce didn't have any interest in spending time with other people, and he didn't see why he should have to. 

Alfred alone could not be mother and father to Bruce, even if he'd been willing to try. Alfred had been relatively young when Bruce was orphaned, not even two decades Bruce's elder. Alfred had both respected and loved the Waynes, and he loved their son, as well. But Alfred had no training in being a parent, and was nearly crippled at times in helping Bruce, because he simply did not know what to do. In later years, Alfred would tell Bruce that he had erred unforgivably in his role as Bruce's guardian, by letting Bruce pursue his own course without sufficient guidance, by not trying harder to help Bruce work through his grief. For Bruce's part, he didn't blame Alfred. Alfred had tried his best to give Bruce everything that Bruce needed. And child Bruce, being precocious and alternatively grief-stricken and angry, had needed more than just a loving guardian. He had needed a cause. And Alfred, intentionally or not, had led Bruce to find one. 

It had been a rainy night, not too long after Bruce's parents had died, but long enough after that the first numbing, gut-wrenching grief had been replaced with anger. Bruce had excelled at his studies, and Alfred had offered to take Bruce sailing as a reward. Sailing had been an activity which Bruce had previously enjoyed with his father...one of Thomas Wayne's favorite hobbies. Without his father, it just seemed pointless. Although adult-Bruce couldn't justify child-Bruce's throwing an entire table worth of dishes at a wall. 

Alfred hadn't been best pleased by that, either. But he had dealt with the troubled boy before the broken china. And it had been there, on the dining room floor surrounded by the wreckage of beef wellington and creamed spinach, that the first kernel of the idea that would become the Mission first came to Bruce. 

"What's the point!?!" Bruce had yelled, "What's the point of any of this...doing well at anything, going sailing...anything! Anything, when...when...they're GONE!" Then Bruce had burst into noisy sobs. 

Putting his arms around his young charge, Alfred had soothed, "Of course it is good that you are alive, Master Bruce. Of course there is a purpose to it all." 

"There isn't." Bruce countered, hiccuping and in tears, but still deadly serious. 

Alfred's arms just tightened around Bruce as he denied, "You are a very intelligent, caring young man. I have every confidence that you will find a way to give back to this world, to make your parents proud of you even though they are no longer here with us."

That was something that Bruce clearly hadn't thought of yet. The idea gripped him with the fervor of a conversion. "You're right." He murmured softly to Alfred, his expression now focused rather than troubled, as he continued, "I can make sure that no other child EVER has to lose his parents, let alone watch while they are killed before him." 

"Ah...that wasn't exactly what I meant, Master Bruce." Alfred murmured, blinking his eyes in astonishment. Gently, he added, "It seems entirely too much for one child - one man- to accomplish."

Bruce squared his shoulders, looking so much like his father about to attempt a difficult surgery that it made Alfred catch his breath. 

"Then I'd better get started." Bruce said determinedly, getting to his feet. "Instead of sailing, Alfred, can I get a hand-to-hand combat instructor?" 

Sighing, Alfred agreed, "Of course we might, young sir, if that is what you wish. Perhaps after we have rescued what we might of the china?" 

With a blush for his temper, Bruce agreed, "Of course." 

What had followed was years and years of training, mind and body and spirit. Years during which Bruce had done his best to hone his body into a perfect weapon, his mind into an unrivaled instrument of analysis, his soul into one of steel. Years during which Bruce's goal was to become the perfect crime-fighter, and Alfred's goal was to keep Bruce alive, sane, and as happy as possible. In retrospect, Bruce's task had probably been the easier of the two. 

Alfred had told Bruce on a number of occasions, as Bruce nursed an injury from his exertions in some foreign land, that Alfred had deeply regretted his word choice that long-ago day. He'd meant to encourage Bruce to be a good student and, eventually, a good businessman or perhaps a good doctor, like Thomas Wayne had been. Bruce had always known that, by 'find a way to give back to the world, to make your parents proud,' that Alfred hadn't meant Bruce's crusade. Alfred had always made it clear that, although Alfred was proud of Bruce, he loathed the crusade. But Alfred loved Bruce like a son, so he stayed. There were times when he'd had to leave...when he hadn't been able to stand watching his beloved ward torture himself...but he'd always been there for Bruce, when Bruce needed him. 

And, when the Batman first appeared in Gotham city, it had been Alfred alone who knew Bruce Wayne's secret. Alfred who guarded, patched up, and cared for his young Master, even while quietly mourning that Bruce Wayne was more and more only a mask. And Alfred, who would just as silently cheer, when Selina Kyle, the Catwoman, first caused Bruce to realize that he was more than just the Batman. 

In the early days, Batman was a ghost. A rumor of a bogeyman; the criminals feared him as they feared the unknown in the night. The cops at first didn't give credence to his existence, and when they finally realized there might be something to the tales of a batman that preyed upon the city's worst...they tried to find him, to stop him. Then Batman proved an ally to some of the best in the Gotham City Police Department, and they aided and abetted Batman. Or at least ignored him. And besides, there were enough problems in Gotham that a vigilante who tried not to kill and often aided the police in solving serious crimes was not someone high on officialdom's list of problems. 

For the crimefighter himself, Batman was far more important than Bruce Wayne. In fact, to Batman, the atrophy of Bruce Wayne had begun at an early age. Without his parents alive, what Bruce Wayne did mostly didn't matter, other than that it must always be clear that Bruce Wayne was not, and could not be, the Batman. Oh, Bruce Wayne was reliable enough when he had to be about showing up for Wayne Enterprises Board of Directors meetings, and about his other responsibilities having to do with the company. Not only did the livelihoods of many other people and the economy of Gotham City rely upon that, but so did his crusade. Without Bruce Wayne's money, Batman would not have the best toys. 

And Batman needed them. He was the first so-called 'Superhero' since the Great War to take on such an ambitious role without super powers to back him up. Batman needed fear, and Batman needed a technological edge. And Bruce was never one to rely on luck, or being faster or stronger than the other guy to win a fight for him. Such might be the only strategy of other vigilante heroes, such as Superman and the Flash, but to Bruce's way of thinking, it was ridiculous. 

The Batman had been about his work in earnest for a little more than a year when he first met...HER. She distracted him, made him forget that Bruce Wayne and Batman were two different entities. Made him want a life beyond protecting the city, putting the scum away. Made him forget that the Quest was deadly serious, that it could never be fun. Which was unacceptable. Because when he was Batman, Bruce Wayne did not exist. Batman was the night. He was Justice...and he was, on that first night he met her...completely mesmerized by this woman's...this CRIMINAL's... long, curvy legs. 

She was neither tall nor short, but her height wasn't the first thing he noticed about her. It was her body...she was muscular, but still curvy in all the places a woman should be. Just looking at her somehow brought to Bruce's mind the glamorous leading ladies of the golden-era films he had watched as a child with his mother Martha, because they had been her favorites. The body in the form-fitting purple cat suit could have been Betty Grable's, but the lady cat carried herself with the confidence of Katharine Hepburn. The kind of confidence that was as much self-knowledge as flirtation. Bruce knew...he just knew, that she'd walk so alluringly even if no one was watching her at all. She wasn't beautiful for others; she was lovely for herself. Then she turned to face Bruce, and it was like lightning impacting his chest, shocking him into complete silence. He stared like a school boy, into eyes as soulful as Betty Grable's. They were the bluest eyes Bruce had ever seen, with just a hint of lavender. Dark, dark hair escaped from her purple cowl, framing what Bruce could see of her pale face like the dark hair of the Virgin Mary in a Renaissance masterpiece. 

He knew that he must have surprised her, too. He'd tailed her for almost an hour, since he first saw her exiting from the Gotham Museum of Classical Arts. Now, exiting the balcony of socialite Bunny Harrison's penthouse, she had an artist's bag slung over one shoulder and a smaller bag held very, very carefully in one hand. But like the feline who had inspired her costume, she reacted as if she'd purposely intended to meet the haunt of Gotham City's criminals. 

"Why, hello, Handsome." The cat woman purred, "My horoscope told me that I was going to meet someone tall, dark, and good-lucking tonight, under the stars, but that particular section of the paper has let me down so many times...I didn't have the heart to hope again." 

Bruce only just remembered to use Batman's gravelly voice, as he replied, nearly stuttering, "I'm...here to stop you." 

The vision in purple laughed delightedly, and the sound was so...real. Throaty and warm and touchable, it sounded like it should be fattening. Like fine chocolate, or finely aged liquer. "Stop me...from what?" She asked,with a charming grin. 

"Breaking and entering. And theft of..." Trouble was, Bruce hadn't seen her actually steal anything. He'd had to take a brief detour from tailing the cat-like cat burglar in order to stop a mugger from killing a waitress. But the evidence was all there. So he generically growled, "property that doesn't belong to you." 

The cat woman laughed again, "I wasn't breaking and entering. Bunny's screen door was wide open. I didn't take anything from her penthouse." 

Bruce raised an incredulous eyebrow, and thought about quoting Arthur Conan Doyle. Batman crossed his arms, and harshly accused, "You're here, in that, in the middle of the night...don't even try to tell me that you weren't up to anything illegal." 

The gorgeous cat burglar gave him a naughty wink, and drawled, "Well, darlin', you're here in that get-up in the middle of the night. I'll bet you've gone into some private residences, too. Why don't we go back to my place, and we can take turns spanking each other for unauthorized trespassing?" 

Bruce's reminiscing broke of abruptly, as Neal leaned forward, gagging for breath, caught in the grip of a coughing fit. 

"Lean forward more, Neal." Bruce instructed, as he moved to both hold Neal up in a sitting position, and pat Neal's back firmly. Alfred was suddenly there, as well, putting a towel over Neal's lap just as he begun coughing up grey phlegm. No one reacted as if it were nauseatingly gross, well, no one except Neal. "So...sorry," He gasped, in between coughs. 

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Master Neal. It is simply a part of the process of healing from a severe case of pneumonia." Alfred assured the youth, cleaning up the towel when Neal was at last done coughing, and in fact finally feeling a bit better. 

"Drink these," Bruce ordered, handing Neal a cup of chamomile tea and a glass of apple juice that Alfred had brought. "Apple juice first, and then the tea. It will help your throat."

Neal drank, since not obeying didn't seem wise. The chamomile tea was actually the vanilla kind that Neal preferred, and it did soothe his throat, particularly after the cold apple juice. 

"Good," Bruce praised, now rubbing Neal's back gently. 

"I should be in the hospital," Neal managed to croak after drinking, "And the last time I got hurt you were yelling at me so loudly that you scared the bats. Now....you're giving me tea, and juice, and playing nurse?" 

Bruce grunted, Neal supposed in objection. Neal couldn't read Bruce's grunts as fluently as Dick, Tim, or Damian, or even as capably as Selina. Bruce must have figured that out, as he decided to elaborate. 

"The last time you managed to get injured is a topic which is off-limits today." Bruce said firmly, squeezing Neal's shoulder gently before resuming his seat opposite the younger man. "This time, you were more sick than you realized that you were. Not smart, and it has worried us. But its the same type of just post-adolescent thinking-you're-an-immortal idiocy I had to deal with, first with Dick and then with Tim. Between the two of them alone, Alfred, Minnette, Selina, and I have nursed my hard-headed off-spring through pneumonia no less than a half dozen times." 

"Oh. That must have been pretty miserable, for all involved." Neal sympathized, not even able to imagine the hyper-active Dick forced to stay in bed and recover, let alone Tim, who once he had started working with a problem literally had to be dragged away from his computer kicking and screaming. 

Bruce snorted genteelly, "A clever deduction." 

"Not really." Neal disagreed, "It was pretty easy to figure out that this," Neal gestured around to his sick room, meaning all of the misery of nursing someone who wasn't generally appreciative of your efforts, "is pretty miserable." 

Bruce nodded, but he added quietly that, "The only thing worse, as a parent, is not being able to be here." 

Taken aback by the sentiment present in that quiet statement, the intimation again that Bruce viewed Neal as his child, Neal gaped for a moment. And then, drawing up his courage and his personal rule for thanking people for doing something nice for him, Neal defied his friend Mozzie's description of Neal as someone who only rarely thanked, and even then sarcastically. 

"Thanks, Bruce." Neal offered sincerely, "For having Dick and Tim pick me up, and fly me here. For making it so that I could stay here instead of at the hospital, and for...for taking care of me. I really appreciate it. I hate hospitals." The idea of Bruce as his father was still weird to Neal, but for anyone who'd gone to this much effort to take care of Neal and make him comfortable, Neal would offer a sincere thanks. It was like Selina had said months ago....it might be too late for them to have a conventional father/son relationship, but it wasn't too late for them to be kind to one another, get to know one another a bit, and maybe become friends. Which was, until quite recently, the extent and depth of Neal's relationship to Selina. 

"You are always welcome here." Bruce replied, and his tone was huskier than Bruce Wayne's usual hale-fellow-well-met voice. It was also far from Batman's growl, although the way that Bruce said, 'welcome,' it was a bit stronger, a hint of Batman's 'stay where you belong.' Neal had no intention of staying at Wayne Manor after he was well enough to return to work with the FBI's White Collar Crime Unit in New York City, but it was nice, if still somewhat surreal, to have some place to call home. Well, the family home, where the family seemed to claim him with cheerful and sometimes overwhelming ferocity. 

"Thank you." Neal said, gratitude in his voice, although his blue eyes showed that he was in danger of feeling overwhelmed.

Bruce, who had known Selilna in her younger years, knew that it was time to change the subject, "Shall I continue with my story, or are you ready to sleep, as your doctors would prefer?" 

"Ah...story, please." Neal replied, settling back against his pillows, and feeling better than he had in days. Greatly daring, he added, "But if you could avoid the more graphic parts of the story...considering that I know my existence dates from sometime the first year that you knew Mom...that would be...classy." 

Bruce chuckled, a mix of sympathy and mischief coming across in the sound. "I'll try, Neal. But it's hard to talk about your Mom without mentioning that she personified sex appeal." 

"Do...cough..try." Neal pleaded. 

"I will." With that, Bruce disappeared back into his vivid memories of the first night he'd met Selina, who would later become known as the Catwoman. 

Bruce was rather intrigued by the Catwoman's explanation, even though he wasn't fooled by her clever answer about Bunny's apartment. She also been in a museum...with far many interesting objects to steal. However, Batman growled, "You're a criminal. I stop you, I don't sleep with you." 

"Well, in that case Handsome, I guess we'll have to call this an unsuccessful first date." Gracefully, the catwoman then tossed Batman the small bag that she had handled oh so carefully. Bruce instinctively reached out to grab it, as Catwoman jumped lithely off the roof of the museum. In one motion, she swung her whip around a gargoyle, and used that to pull herself over an almost vertical building, from which she disappeared over the roof and into the garden beyond. 

Batman growled, torn between the instinct to pursue and the instinct to get whatever she'd tossed him back to its proper owners, safe and sound. Upon inspecting his bounty more carefully, Bruce realized that it was....soup. The excellent soup that the diner down the street served, even this late at night." With a silent, condemning laugh at himself, Bruce realized that (A) she'd only said she hadn't stolen from Bunny's house; and (B) she was a criminal, what was he THINKING, letting her go just because she'd tossed him a bag? 

Then Batman dropped down to the streets, handed the soup off to a homeless man who sometimes acted as one of his informants, and began his pursuit of the beautiful criminal and the contents of her art bag. But before he got far, he was distracted by a robbery in progress at a convenience store. By the time that was over, the sun was beginning to glint in the horizon, and Batman's time was over until the next evening. 

Upon arriving home, Batman advised Alfred in a tone of utmost self-loathing, "I failed in my quest, tonight." 

Alfred nobly refrained from rolling his eyes as he handed Bruce pajamas and a warm flannel robe. "I doubt that, Master Bruce." Alfred replied, in a soothing, supportive tone of voice, "You might have been unsatisfied with your performance, but that is often the case when more objectivley viewed, your actions or lack thereof were merely human, and not, as you have a penchant for perceiving them, 'a failure.'" In a deadpan voice showing just a hint of disapproval, Alfred continued, "Besides, tomorrow is another night when you may try even harder to get yourself killed." 

Bruce just grunted at that. It was a common complaint on Alfred's part, before complaining of himself, "I was so distracted by an alluring form that I failed to see the duplicitousness of a criminal mastermind." 

Sighing, Alfred resignedly inquired, "And what nefaroius plot was this mastermind up to?" 

"She...she flirted with me." Bruce reported, as if he couldn't quite believe it himself. 

"How very dire, sir." Alfred replied drolly. 

Bruce gave his former guardian a frustrated look, before clarifying snappishly, "No, Alfred, to distract me. And it worked. I let her get away with a statuette of the Egyptian Cat Goddess Bast, the one that the Harrison family donated to the Gotham Museum of Classical Arts a decade ago." 

"And Bunny Harrison's grandfather stole that fair-and-square from the ruins of the Temple of Bast in Egypt during the Great War. My heart bleeds for poor Bunny, who has been heard to describe that statue as "that ugly old thing Grandpa Harrison won't let me give away to charity." 

Bruce gave his mentor an odd look. 

Alfred sighed in away that Bruce couldn't read, before explaining carefully, "An...old friend of mine, was quite the proponent of the cultural patrimony of places such as Egypt, India, and the Middle East being returned to its home countries." 

Bruce swallowed the lump which had suddenly appeared in his throat, and concluded in a pained tone, "My mother." 

Softly, with infinite affection, Alfred confirmed, "'Yes, Master Bruce. Hence the Wayne Foundation's investments in the museum facilities of those nations, and in certain of their legal funds." 

Bruce took a deep breath, and stated firmly, "That still doesn't make stealing it right." 

Alfred raised an eyebrow, "No, of course it doesn't, young master, and I don't condone theft. Two wrongs do not make a right. But permit me to say that I do hope you will stay busy with this young lady thief rather than the general run of murderers and vermin. I feel that she is much more likely to toy with your emotions rather than your health." 

Bruce grunted again, before promising fiercely, "I won't let her get away with this. Not in my city."


	2. When Bruce Met Selina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes: 
> 
> "One reason we admire cats is for their proficiency in one-upmanship. They always seem to come out on top, no matter what they are doing, or pretend they do." - Barbara Webster 
> 
> "I'm not interested in playing games."- Bruce Wayne (New Earth), Detective Comics Vol. 1 744

Back in the early days of Bruce's career as Batman, he didn't have a team backing him up. The Gotham City Police Department was still recovering from the rife corruption that had flourished there until Batman, Harvey Dent, Jim Gordon, and the current tough-on-crime mayor had begun to get it under control. So, Batman had no time to deal with the cat burglar who had bested him. All of Batman's time was consumed with putting an end to a vicious, seemingly random murdering spree. 

As the investigation progressed, Bruce began to suspect that the horrific, bloody murders were just a distraction. Other deaths were occurring at around the same time, but at first Batman hadn't realized that they were connected. The torture-murders of innocents had claimed his attention; it wasn't until later that he noticed the wealthy and well-connected suffering a statistically unlikely number of fatal accidents, and several unusual assassinations. 

"I swear, I don't know anything else!" A terrified hired killer protested, as Batman held him upside down over a river. "I just overheard them talking about campaign numbers and that my killing that guy would be enough to make the others change their support to another candidate!" 

"What others?" Batman growled, shaking the man, as much from his own frustration as from a need to intimidate. 

"I don't know!" The hired killer wailed, "I can't tell you if I don't know!" 

Batman then had the killer repeat everything he did know, because Batman had found that often observers - crooks or witnesses - knew a lot more than they realized. 

"He...the man who gave me the job, he smelled...weird." The killer babbled. 

Batman rolled his eyes and growled, "Weird, in what way?" 

"Weird...like the closet at that fancy shindig tonight, where I tried to hit my mark!" The assassin yelped, squirming frantically. 

Batman grunted, considering that. The assassin's target that evening had been a wealthy industrialist's assistant. If the assistant had died, the industrialist in question (who was a coward when it came to anything but high finance), would almost certainly have withdrawn his support from the current mayor, and instead would have made whatever contribution the hired killer's shadowy client would have asked for. The hired killer had concealed himself in the coat check at one of the opening parties of the spring social season. Some of the people invited had been friends of Bruce's parents, good people if a little out of touch with the real world (not unlike Bruce himself, before his travels). However, such parties had always seemed to Bruce to be nothing more than an occasion for the most vapid of Gotham's elite to get together, show off their money, and brag about their new toys. Annoyed that he would probably have to subject himself to those same parties in order to get to the bottom of this crime spree, Bruce dropped the hired killer's head into the water for a moment. Because he didn't want to become like the men he hunted, Bruce picked the fellow back up out of the water before he could do more than splutter. Then Batman left him tied up outside GCPD headquarters, with a dossier of his past criminal history taped to the ropes. Batman knew that the assassin would be in and out of jail like a slippery fish if he were tried for attempted murder in Gotham. But Bruce also knew that Jim Gordon and Harvey Dent were too smart to go down that road. when they had the option of extraditing the waste-of-breath scum to another state where Batman had given them proof that he actually had killed someone. Murder was a much easier sell than attempted murder; the dead body where there had once been a living, breathing person always spoke volumes. Such deaths produced an outraged silence, as Bruce knew all too well. 

Batman intensely resented spending evenings as Bruce Wayne instead of protecting his city. But between the hitman's unintentional clue, his own investigation, and some information from Jim Gordon's sources in the Mayor's office, Batman managed to piece together that the torture-murders were just an elaborate, inhuman cover-up. The underlying scheme was beginning to look like extortion and bribery, secured by threats and murder. And many of the dead, and the men whom Bruce could prove had been scared into making payments or giving information, were somehow connected to the mayor's office or his campaign. After his normal criminal informants and even his sources in the mob had nothing to give him, Batman began to realize that there might well be blue blood and old money involved in the in the plot. It shouldn't have been a shock, but Bruce was still learning that when men born to privilege turn to crime, they can be just as bad if not worse than any other criminal. 

"They're worse," Jim Gordon had complained to Batman, "Because often the people they victimize and embroil in their schemes aren't even real to them. The world is meant to be their oyster. To the extent that it isn't, well, that gives them the right to fix things, doesn't it?" 

Batman grunted in agreement. He was very unhappy at the idea of having to go undercover as Bruce Wayne, discreetly sleuthing out who might have the connections and the chutzpah to pull these strings and arrange multiple deaths to distract from the theft of millions of dollars from the mayor's reelection campaign and from the Gotham city budget. But to shirk from any task, no matter how repugnant, that might help him solve these murders, would be an insult to the dead. So Bruce asked Alfred to arrange for a number of social appearances, and tried not to roll his eyes and gnash his teeth as Alfred took obvious pleasure in his former charge's plans. The first event that Bruce was to attend took place on a rainy March 21st, an evening which Bruce would never forget. 

For that was when Bruce first met Selina. 

He noticed her immediately, even across the vast expanse of the Gotham Museum of Natural History atrium. The stately old marble building was playing the host to one of Mary-Rose Kane's elegant charity balls. The mysterious beauty, glamorous in a simple sheath dress of dark blue-violet, was chatting with Mary-Rose, and the elderly and hypochondriac Marston Fisher. 

Bruce accepted a glass of champagne from a roving waiter, and went over to join them. It was only proper for him to pay his compliments to Mary-Rose, as the hostess and one of his own distant cousins. And Marston Fisher was one of the society blue-bloods who Bruce wanted to talk to, anyway. Batman didn't suspect Fisher of being involved in anything illegal, but he was very observant, and so elderly that many of Gotham's social elite took less care than they should in what they said around him. 

"Bruce, darling," Mary-Rose greeted him with a friendly-enough smile, "It is always a pleasure to see you at one of our little parties." 

Which Bruce supposed was the truth. He knew that Mary-Rose didn't approve of his play-boy, womanizing ways. Neither did Alfred, in point-of-fact (although Alfred, at least, knew the reason for Bruce's caddish behavior). But the hostess in Mary-Rose was probably glad for the hefty checks which Bruce always donated to the charities that she supported. 

"Mary, cousin dear," Bruce replied, leaving off the 'Rose,' since Mary-Rose hadn't referred to him by his preferred society nick-name of 'Brucie.' Batman preferred to optimize all of his appearances as Bruce Wayne, in order to make Bruce look as foolish and un-Batman-like as possible, with minimum amount of time away from being Batman. Mary-Rose, of course, didn't understand that. And since she had once supervised the younger Bruce and her younger sisters Katherine and Bette at Kane family reunions, Mary Rose knew that Bruce hadn't always been a fool. She was probably calling him 'Bruce' instead of 'Brucie' to express her disapproval, and it was none of her business, anyway. She couldn't know that the whole facade was necessary to Batman, and Bruce, of course, was not going to tell her. Instead, he leered, and said to the dark-haired beauty beside Mary-Rose, "I don't think we've met. I never forget a face as beautiful as yours. I'm Bruce Wayne." 

"Oh, I know who you are." The glamorous unknown assured Bruce, with a confident, almost teasing smile. 

Normally, introducing himself as Bruce Wayne garnered almost a fawning reaction, or at least awe and a flattered blush, from any woman. This one looked unimpressed, which intrigued him, and Bruce suppressed an annoyed glare as he saw Mary-Rose's amused smile. 

"Bruce...Brucie," Mary-Rose began, and all of a sudden Bruce hated his nick-name, hated everything about his act that meant he couldn't meet this strange, lovely woman as anything but a caricature of a wealthy dilettante, as Mary-Rose continued, "Allow me to introduce you to Selina Kyle, a friend of mine from boarding school." 

"Enchante, Mademoiselle," Bruce said seductively, as he took Selina's pale, graceful hand, and pressed his lips to it. Bruce remembered that Mary-Rose had attended highschool in France, and supposed that French would be a safe language in which to address a school friend. 

Selina permitted the romantic gesture, her blue-violet eyes alight with amusement. Bruce, who was supposed to be so jaded that the sight of an incomparable beauty only spurred him onto greater feats of seduction, was struck dumb. Not only was the woman incredibly lovely, but she had the cat-thief's eyes. Bruce had only seen them that one night, several weeks ago, but they were unmistakable. Dark blue, with just a hint of lavender. 

"An..honor, to make your acquaintance as well, Mr. Wayne." Selina said throatily, and it was the same voice. The cat-woman's voice. 

Bruce fought not to stare, even as he made himself keep being Bruce Wayne. So he smiled lecherously, and invited Selina to call him Brucie. 

At that point, Marston Fisher cleared his throat, and Bruce turned his attention to the object of his attendance at this ridiculous party. The role of 'Brucie Wayne' fit over Batman perfectly again, as Bruce apologized for his rudeness in not greeting Marston earlier. 

"Heh, heh. No apology is necessary, Brucie. An old man like me shouldn't rate much attention when he keeps company with such beauties." Marston Fisher smiled genially at Mary-Rose, Selina, and Bruce, before frowning irritably as he was approached by his nephew, Alan Granville, and a man whom Bruce did not know. 

"Dr. Kendrick," Marston reproached the man wearily, "I can assure you that I am drinking the sparkling cider which Miss Mary-Rose so kindly provided, and not anything alcoholic. And that I am quite fine enough to stay at this delightful party until well after midnight, after the long nap which you forced me to take this afternoon." 

Bruce frowned fractionally, as Marston brow-beat his doctor into leaving him alone, and his nephew Alan into letting the doctor leave him alone. Bruce hadn't realized that Marston's health had deteriorated to the point where he needed to be constantly attended by a physician. Oh, the old man, a member of Bruce's grandparents' generation, had always had one health complaint or another, but they had never seemed to slow him down before. And now he seemed gray, almost delicate. Bruce observed with disquiet that Mary-Rose and Selina were exchanging a look of concern. Mary-Rose might be annoying, but she was no alarmist. Bruce remembered quite clearly that an arsonist setting one of her best friend's weddings ablaze hadn't even fazed Mary-Rose; instead, she'd been calmly directing the guests to leave the building. She'd even been composed enough to tell Batman where the fire had started, and to recall and describe a man who wasn't a guest staring avidly at the burning building. 

"Marston," Bruce asked genially after the doctor had been dismissed, "I've been away from Gotham for most of the season. In the Caribbean on my yacht, you know. I'm wondering if you could fill me in on the gossip I've missed...for instance, why is Bunny Henderson all of a sudden keeping company with Geoffrey Alton the Third?" Geoffrey was a bit of a bully, and his father had been worse. Geoffrey Alton Junior had been infamous for engaging in suspicious business practices before his untimely death. Geoffrey Alton the Third was on Batman's short-list of suspects for the murder/extortion scheme. 

"Nasty business, that," Marston informed Bruce, with the confiding manner of an inveterate gossip, "Geoffrey was engaged to Gretchen Vanderhausen, until just two months ago. He broke it off with her, and has spread all manner of terrible rumors about her..." 

"None of which are true," Mary-Rose interrupted angrily, "Poor Gretchen is so awfully upset, and Bunny and a number of others are pursuing Geoffrey as if he's the victim in all of this." 

"The blood bath begins," Selina added acidly, "Geoffrey has a poisonous personality and a thicker pocketbook, so Gretchen has been basically black-listed. And in the few weeks since he's been back on the market as a potential husband, Geoffrey has become a society darling." 

"Ah, mankind at its best." Bruce replied sardonically, before remembering that he was supposed to be a vacuous airhead interested in such petty gossip. That he needed to be perceived as just that, both for his cover, and to find out who was using their position amongst Gotham's privileged elite to scheme with civil servants and members of the Gotham underworld to steal the city blind, replace the mayor with anyone else, and commit wanton murders to obscure their true intentions. 

Bruce's momentary slip had made Selina give him a second, more intent appraisal. Part of Bruce warmed at the attention, but he quickly jerked his attention back to the mission, hastily changing the subject, "What about the Carlyle twins? Are they still single, and ah, most often interested in the same man?" 

Marston grinned, not at all annoyed. Marston loved gossip. Bruce was able to work the topic of the Carlyle twins back to what Geoffrey Alton had been up to, and also subtly probe for information about the other men on his short list. Selina listened with an attentive expression and a bemused sparkle in her eyes for a few minutes, before accepting an invitation to dance with one of Mary-Rose's wealthy friends. Bruce fought back a feeling of disappointment, but stuck to the mission. With a Carlyle twin on either arm, Bruce went around the room and had a few drinks with each of his suspects. Even at the time, he thought that Selina might be Catwoman. It was those blue-violet eyes, as well as her height and clever repartee. But Selina moved like a pretty young woman with some training as a classical dancer. While Catwoman moved like cross between an athlete and Mata Hari. Still, Catwoman stealing pretty baubles from the well-off and even famous pieces from museums was just not high enough on Bruce's priority list to compete with the murder-extortion plot. Which he was making little to no progress on. The rich and privileged of Gotham had no shortage of dirty secrets, but nothing that hinted at the heinous and casual cruelty he was looking for. And he was having no luck finding the connection that the perpetrators must have at the mayor's office, or how would they know which of the mayor's campaign contributors to scare into supporting someone with a softer stance on crime? The other candidates themselves were clean...and the some of the money supporting the worst of the mayoral candidates was definitely coming from overseas. But without the middle men, whom he was increasingly sure belonged to the Gotham elite, Batman could not pin down and stop the money trail. 

The next time that Batman saw Catwoman (rather than Selina), it was weeks after their first meeting. And she was doing something entirely different. 

Batman was patrolling the city that night. He had been forced to play "Bruce Wayne" so frequently of late, that he was almost relieved to be back on the streets of Gotham. Well, except for the serious reason that he needed to be there. The Quest was serious at all times; Bruce allowed himself some satisfaction at stopping crime. But no satisfaction for needing to prevent crime, and no joy in the act of stopping criminals. Batman hated that Gotham was so tortured by crime that she needed him. That night, just as he was leaving mid-town to patrol near the museums (where he rather hoped that the Catwoman might be), Bruce heard a woman's terrified screams coming from the edge of Memorial Park. He didn't even waste the energy to swear under his breath as he raced to her rescue. Batman -and Bruce - hated to have women frightened and hurt by violence more than he hated almost anything in the world. Bruce actively feared for the poor woman whose screams were growing weaker even as he drew closer to her, in a way that he did not fear when he stopped armed robbers from entering a bank or dodged bullets to prevent a drug shipment. Worse, Bruce feared that he would be too late. Not to stop the assailant, but to save the woman from what he feared was much worse than a mere robbery. 

The screams stopped, and Bruce's heart nearly stopped. But he didn't pause. He arrived at the Memorial Park founder's fountain just in time to see a middle-aged woman wiping away tears of fright and kicking a man who was tied to a broken street lamp with what looked like packing twine. 

"I had intended to use the twine for securing cloth around art work while I moved it from one location to another. Just as a favor for a friend, you know." The Catwoman informed Bruce in her throaty contralto. "But it seemed appropriate to stop and help keep the park clean." 

Bruce grunted to hide his shock, and then growled to Selina, "Where is his gun?," while he secured the would-be rapist more thoroughly with handcuffs and rope. 

Selina pointed to the fountain, and Bruce fished it out, scolding her, "You should have removed the ammunition and secured the firearm. Most modern guns will fire even after immersion. And tying the man up with twine is just sloppy." 

The Catwoman shrugged, but the glimmer in her blue-violet eyes clearly conveyed irritation, gratitude, and amusement. Bruce spared a moment to marvel...she had the most expressive eyes. Then the police sirens began to wail, responding at last to the terrified screams. Batman retreated to a nearby roof top, just to make sure that the officers who took the woman's statement and picked up the trash weren't on Jim Gordon's bad list. Catwoman followed him; he didn't encourage her, but he didn't discourage her either. After he'd checked out the police, Batman turned to look at the woman who had shocked him by aiding him in the Quest that night. 

"What are you?" Batman asked her harshly. 

Catwoman just tilted her pretty head, and answered, as if there was only one possible answer to that question, "I am me."

Bruce growled in frustration, his jaw clenching in a way that was probably obvious even under his cowl. Then he clarified, "No, I meant are you a criminal, or a crime-fighter?" 

As though she thought that she'd already answered his question, the Catwoman just smiled and said, "Meow." Then she made a judicious exit. Batman didn't pursue, because he had a mugging to stop. It wasn't until later that he realized the Catwoman had plans that night, too. As she told him many years later, she had, in fact, been planning to move a painting (and in fact, for a friend, although said friend was only questionably the legal owner). But the Catwoman also had "a luscious pendant of sapphire and cat's eye jade to replace with an excellent fake," which she managed to to take home, right under his nose. 

Bruce scrutinized Selina Kyle very closely at the following night's gala, but elegant Selina gave nothing away. In fact, she gave every impression of being much like any other privileged, spoiled young woman. Bruce teased her about living off of her inheritance (which is the story Mary-Rose had given him), and Selina just smiled mysteriously. She was also kind and solicitous to old Marston Fisher for no immediate reason that Bruce could discern. It made him suspect that she was trying to con the old man, which made him somehow even more unhappy and upset with her than he had been, just thinking that she might be the Catwoman thief. Bruce also felt like he'd gotten knocked in the chest every time Selina showed up at an event on the arm of another bachelor. Which she often did, as Selina changed beaus in those days nearly as frequently as Bruce went through bimbo dates. Although it made Alfred sigh, Bruce went through dates like other men went through clothing,all in order to protect Batman's image. Understandably, many of Bruce's former girlfriends were not on the best of terms with him, despite having the cache of having been one of "Bruce's babes." Yet Selina seemed to be able to manage to part from all of her amours on good terms. It caused Bruce to wonder if Selina was really a professional escort, or if she was just that good at being a charming date and letting a man down easy. It seemed the second, or at least so far as he could tell by covertly investigating the matter. 

Part of his investigation involved chatting up Mary-Rose. She seemed reluctant to tell him anything about Selina, but shamelessly tried to get him involved in her campaign to socially rehabilitate Gretchen Vanderhausen. Bruce evaded; he didn't want to get to know these people any more than he had to in order to solve his case. As soon as he had his answers, he was done with being Bruce Wayne so frequently. 

Despite keeping that in mind, Bruce was jealous of the men whom Selina chose to spend her time with, and he did need to find out if she was Catwoman or not. But it was mostly because Bruce didn't know what Selina's game was with Marston that he spent so much time with her. Or at least that's what he told himself. 

Bruce lucked out, in that good old Geoffrey Alton the Third (whom Bruce still had under surveillance as a possible suspect in the extortion-murder scheme that Bruce was primarily investigating), ended up asking Selina, "Why do you spend so much time with that old fossil?," while gesturing towards Marston. 

Selina smiled brightly in reply, but the glimmer in her eyes was predatory. "Marston is a dear, and a very stimulating conversationalist. So few people are." 

"I suppose so." Geoffrey agreed, his attention moving away from Selina to his diamond-studded watch. "Ah. I must be going. I hope to see you later, Selina. Racquetball at the club tomorrow, Brucie?" 

Bruce forced himself to smile and clasp Geoffrey's arm as they were great friends and nothing could please him more. 

Selina gave Bruce a curious look after Geoffrey left. "I wouldn't think that you would be after Geoffrey's pocket book or the social standing of being known as his friend, Bruce. And I can't think of why else you would subject yourself to his company so often." 

Bruce couldn't explain that, and besides, he had a question for her. So he replied, "Geoffrey's alright, in his way. Not as stimulating a conversationalist as Marston, of course..." 

Laughing as her eyes sparkled, Selina explained, "Actually, Marston reminds me of my favorite art history professor. And Mary-Rose wants to make sure he isn't bored at any of her parties, since he's her godfather and he's having so many health problems. Geoffrey, on the other hand, is just a puss ball." 

Bruce had to grin back. But since he was there to investigate, he went ahead and asked, "What do you think of the rumor that Geoffrey is secretly a drug dealer?" It was a rumor that Bruce had spread himself, just to see what came up. If Geoffrey was involved in something else, a rumor of wrong-doing might be enough to bring that forward. And it let Bruce ask the people who knew his suspects well questions about their possible criminal activities, under the cover that it was all just gossip. He didn't expect Selina to know anything, though. She was a newcomer to Gotham high society, and probably just a clever, pretty conwoman. 

Selina considered Geoffrey's retreating back, after a moment replying thoughtfully, "No, I don't think he's a drug dealer. In all honesty, I don't think he has the time-management skills for that. He is, however, having an affair with Mrs. Granville, which Marston threatened to expose if they didn't inform Mr. Granville of it. Which explains why Geoffrey is being nasty to, and about, Marston." 

Selina paused as Bruce gave her an intrigued, amused nod. Internally, he was trying to factor that information into his investigation. If Geoffrey was disappearing to have an affair with a married woman, that did, in fact, make him a puss ball. But not a criminal. Selina didn't know about Batman's investigation, and she'd already proved helpful, so he just gave her charming smile, and leaned closer to whisper in her ear, "Go on..." 

Ducking her head and laughing to conceal a shiver (which made Bruce inexplicably happy), Selina did continue, her expression becoming more solemn, "If anyone here tonight were to be involved in something more serious, I would wonder about Bobby Cavendish and Anthony Ryan. They've had money to burn these past few weeks, where previously their parents kept them on a tight string. And when I was at the club with Mary-Rose and Bunny the other day..."

"Mary-Rose hates Bunny," Bruce interrupted in surprise, before wincing and hating himself for knowing that. 

Selina laughed, her throaty, touchable laugh, rich as fine dark chocolate. "Yes. But it's necessary, sometimes, to have lunch with those you hate, in order to find out what they know and get them to do things for you. Like put a friend back onto their invitation lists." 

"Ah, the Gretchen issue." Bruce said aloud, since he wanted to encourage Selina to keep talking. He needed to know what she knew about Bobby Cavendish and Anthony Ryan, "So, what did you ladies see, at the club?" 

Smiling coyly, Selina asked, "What's it worth to you, Bruce?" 

Cursing himself for betraying his interest like an obvious fool, Bruce smiled lightly, and tried to back pedal, "A moment of amusement, Selina dear, no more. But you know how seriously I take my amusement." 

"Very seriously, if rumor holds true." Selina replied, absently twirling the stem of a crystal wine glass in her hand, "In which case, in exchange for my silly little bit of gossip from the club, you would be willing to take Gretchen as your date to the Victory Races?" 

Bruce couldn't care less about horses. He felt a little sorry for Gretchen, whom he remembered from his parents' parties as a shy and slightly plump little girl, a childhood playmate of Mary-Rose Kane's. But Bruce had more important things to be doing than getting involved in Gotham high society internal brangles. Even if Selina was the catwoman burglar, it wasn't worth this much of Bruce's time and trouble. Not when there were bigger problems in Gotham, like murders and extortion. 

But he might well need this information, to solve one of those bigger crimes. Gordon was getting desperate. If that money went into influencing the next mayoral election...they could lose all of the ground they had gained with the GCPD. And it was only one afternoon. So Bruce reluctantly agreed, "Amusing enough to take Gretchen to the race," Then smiled rakishly, "But only if you will join us with...whomever is your escort of the evening." Bruce said the last with just a hint of criticism. 

Selina raised her chin in challenge, while at the same time endearingly brushing back an errant lock of dark brown hair. "At least my dates don't end the evening alone with a new bauble after I disappear." Selina paused, before giving Bruce a slightly apologetic look, "Or even worse, end up in the bathroom crying because their date, Anthony Ryan, dropped them like a hot potato on Saturday night," when the last of the pay-outs had occurred, Bruce recalled. "And then showed up at the club the next day for lunch, a thirty-something civil servant with a bad haircut on his arm." 

Bruce only just managed not to curse aloud. The government connection was the mayor's secretary, a woman whom he'd never even looked twice at. For Batman, an unforgivable lapse. Maybe he really was the misogynist that Selina had accused him of being, but that was a thought for another day. Now, he had several murderers and extortionists to tie up in a neat bow for Gordon and the GCPD. And an excuse to make. "My apologies, Selina, I just remembered that I'm late for an appointment with my...tailor." 

Selina rolled her eyes, "I'm not your date, Bruce. You don't need to make up some lame excuse for me when you remember a prettier face you'd rather go chase. I don't care what you do; you're not my mystery to solve." 

Bruce left with an enigmatic smile and a cryptic compliment, but what he really wanted to do was tell Selina that there were no prettier faces than hers, not anywhere. That if he didn't have so many secrets of his own, he'd love to be her mystery to solve. And it made him wonder who was her mystery to solve....

**Author's Note:**

> This story is also posted as chapters in a Batman/Whitecollar crossover, where Neal Caffrey is the son of Selina and Bruce. Feel free to check it out if you're interested.


End file.
